


Safety Pin

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chronic Pain, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Teasing, Vulnerability, take a minute to picture that please, wingman! ignis, yoga teacher! gladio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 21:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: Above all else is his brilliant grin and the deep tenor of his laugh as he greets everyone who crowds around him. He’s like the sun, drawing them all in on the whim of a breath.Noctis reluctantly agrees to attend one yoga class with Ignis to help his back, not expecting to get hooked on the instructor's every word.





	Safety Pin

**Author's Note:**

> I typed out half a page of this back in may and then sat down last night to finish it for gladnoct week!! It really spiraled into something of its own ahah, I hope you enjoy <3 The title is from the song by 5 Seconds of Summer.
> 
> Day Four: Chronic Pain

Rain streaks down the windows, blurring the world outside into an impression painting as Noctis crosses his arms and stares. The air conditioning in the front office is frigid after coming in from the smothering humidity and he pulls his hoodie closer around him, conscious of his ratty sweats compared to the rows of stretchy pants for sale along the far wall. At the desk, Ignis converses lowly with the receptionist - an imposing woman with long, silver hair and a dry sense of humor.

Noctis wants to go home, but he promised he’d try, so instead he stays and stares out the window and wishes he were one of the droplets running off into the pane and down into the ground.

_“One class. I won’t bring it up anymore if you find it disparaging.”_

There’s a twinge of pain, nothing new in the slightest, and Noctis breathes through its monotony. He wishes his body would do something new and more productive than reminding him every few minutes of something he’d very much like to purge from his memory forever. His therapist says that isn’t a good way to deal with the trauma. Noctis thinks his trauma can get fucked.

“Noct.” Ignis beckons him over to the far doorway and the receptionist watches out of the corner of her eye as he follows. 

The room beyond is full of people lined up on a rainbow of sleek mats, stretching and chatting lowly. One side is entirely windows, the world outside a little more visible through the muck as the rain lessens. He tries to focus on that rather than all the eyes regarding them and sticks to the back wall like glue.

To his credit, Ignis follows without complaint and sets up the mats he had tucked under his arm behind everyone else. Mirrors are lined along the front and Noctis avoids accidentally glancing in them as he takes a seat, tracing the green swirls on his blue mat.

His skin itches uncomfortably and he watches Ignis ease forward to grab the arches of his feet, counting breaths and wondering how he let himself get talked into this. 

The murmur of chatter rises as a man enters the room and Noctis looks up, only to have the very breath snatched from his lungs. He’s tall - head nearing the top of the doorway tall - with broad, tan shoulders and a tapered waist. The length of his legs is made very apparent by the somewhat loose joggers slung low on his hips and even from across the room the taut muscles of his bare biceps and chest are visible beneath his tank top. Noctis eyes the curling tattoo lines of feathers stretching down to his elbows, mouth inexplicably dry.

If the man’s body is something to write home about, it’s nothing compared to his face - his jaw sharp beneath the stubble and a proud brow above his dark eyes. A scar runs down over his brow and cheek, but it’s more weathered than intimidating. His hair is pulled back in a half-bun, the locks wavy where they fall down his back in a wave. Above all else is his brilliant grin and the deep tenor of his laugh as he greets everyone who crowds around him. He’s very much like the sun, drawing them all in on the whim of a breath.

Their eyes meet across the room and Noctis snaps his gaze away, cheeks burning as he stares a hole through his mat. Ignis covers his amusement with a cough, but Noctis refuses to look over at the undoubtedly smug look on his face.

A resounding clap startles him, the beautiful man having taken position at the front of the room to face them all. Noctis tries very hard not to look at the way his muscles bunch and flex in the mirror. He fails.

“Welcome everyone,” he says, voice as smooth as honey. For a brief moment, his eyes fick in Noctis’ general direction. “For those of you who are just joining us, I’m Gladio and I’ll be leading you through the class today. Before we get started I want to go over some of my general guidelines.”

His posture is relaxed, casual, and the grin never seems to slip from his lips. “Over the course of this class, we will be covering several different sequences involving poses with varying levels of difficulty. I want to remind everyone that it’s okay to stick with the lower ones if that’s what you feel is best for your body. Remember - if it doesn’t feel good, it isn’t. This class is structured in a way that allows you to cultivate your own experience to fit your needs.”

There’s a general murmur of consensus and Gladio beams. “Sound good? Good. Now, let’s start today on our feet…”

The fact that everyone follows along makes Noctis less anxious. It’s less mortifying to make a fool of himself if they’re all doing it too and it helps if he reminds himself they’re proly focusing on their own bodies rather than his. Gladio leads them through a few basic poses, his gentle voice falling into a soothing lull like words of a familiar book, and his directions are concise enough to not be overwhelming.

By the time they move on to another sequence, Noctis isn’t sure whether or not to be embarrassed that he’s already breathing a little heavier, hairline damp with sweat. He isn’t given much time to consider it. Whenever Gladio twists himself into a more advanced pose for the show offs in the room - traitor Ignis among them - Noctis sticks to the first one or two, depending on how well he thinks he can handle it. The ache in his back is a persistent ghost, but he ignores it in lieu of stretching the life’s worth of built up tension in his shoulders. 

Every now and then Gladio walks around the room, correcting people’s posture with a small touch here or there. Noctis jumps when his wide palm gently settles against his back, his other hand guiding his arm into an angle that relieves the strain he’d been feeling along his spine. He breathes a small sigh of relief, glancing up through his bangs to smile shyly at Gladio, who blinks in surprise before returning it.

At the end of the class, Noctis is exhausted. He never would have guessed yoga would take so much out of him, but all of his muscles are loose and tingly in a good way and the sweat cools against his skin as Gladio dismisses them.

He rolls up his borrowed mat and makes for the door, but Ignis stops him with a hand to the arm and nods a head over where Gladio is chatting with a few other students. They hang around until the crowd disperses and to Noctis’ surprise, Gladio heads straight for them.

“Iggy,” he says, warmly. “As balanced as ever I see.”

When Ignis narrows his eyes they scrunch at the corners in a way that betrays his pride. “Try as you may to find a pose that throws me.”

Gladio laughs, it warming Noctis to his toes. It’s then that his amber gaze turns to him and Ignis pushes him forward. “This is Noctis.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” says Gladio, offering his hand. It engulfs Noctis’ almost entirely, palms rough but gentle, and he swallows hard. “Ignis has told me about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

Gladio winks. “Only the best.”

“Besides the point,” says Ignis, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. “I brought Noctis along to try a class out and see if it would help with his back.”

“How was it?” asks Gladio, and Noctis shyly shrugs a shoulder. “Well, I do offer one on one instruction if that’s more your speed. Sometimes it helps more to focus on your individual needs than wade through a group setting.”

Noctis hesitates, surprised at how quickly Gladio picked up on part of his uncertainty. “I’ll… think about it,” he says, though he already knows the answer.

They take their leave, Noctis staring out the window of Ignis’ car with his hand on his chin. He absolutely does not spend the next week thinking of the soft touch of Gladio’s hand at his back. 

He attends two more group classes with Ignis and every time they’re greeted with a blinding smile and enthusiasm. Noctis curses the way his nerves set afire and tells himself he imagines the way Gladio’s eyes linger on his. The third week he finally approaches him to schedule a one on one session at both his therapist’s and Ignis’ encouragement.

The anxiety in Noctis’ gut is ten times stronger than it had been the first class and he refuses to acknowledge why. He grips his yoga mat and stares at the door, feet frozen to the door as the tick of the clock echos in the front office.

“Gladio won’t bite, kid.”

Noctis jumps, neck snapping over to look at the same silver haired receptionist as before. She gives him an amused once over and grins, teeth sharp in the light. “Not unless you ask him to.”

The rush of blood to his cheeks is nearly strong enough to make him faint, but Noctis powers through and decides whatever lies behind the door can’t nearly be as bad as her and he scurries inside.

Gladio’s hair is pulled back as usual, dressed in his usual ensemble of joggers and a tank top, and Noctis lingers back to appreciate the expanse of his shoulders in the time it takes for him to be noticed.

When he looks up from his phone, Gladio waves and heads over. His eyes drop down and up - to see what he has to work with, Noctis thinks and shifts uneasily - but then his gaze stops short, eyebrows raising before he smiles.

“You play the new Last Legend game?”

It takes Noctis’ brain a second to catch up, glancing down to the graphic of his shirt. “Finished it Friday.”

“You did not.” Gladio laughs incredulously. “It only came out last week!”

“I did too,” says Noctis, the tension in his shoulders dripping away like thawing snow. “Apparently your gaming skills are just weak.”

“Oof. You don’t pull your punches, do ya Noct.”

Noctis grins - genuine and teasing - and Gladio’s face falls slack. It’s gone in the blink of an eye and the lesson gets started. It’s familiar, which helps ease the rest of Noctis’ anxieties as they run through a few of the sequences from the group class together. Whenever Gladio introduces something new, he tells Noctis more about it as he demonstrates.

“This will help build your core muscles more, but in a gradual way that’s not too strenuous,” he says, and the tips of his fingers guide Noctis’ hip over where he wants it.

That’s the worst part, and the best - Gladio’s hands. They’re fleeting, touches soft like the brushing wings of butterflies, but they burn deep into Noctis’ skin in an imprint. He’s thankful his blush can be excused as exertion and breathes deeply to focus on the stretch in his back.

“How do you know Iggy?” Gladio asks.

“We’ve been friends since I was little, son of a family friend. It feels like I’ve never not known him,” says Noctis as he shifts to the next pose. “You?”

Gladio taps Noctis’ foot to get him to square it. “Met him here, but we’ve gone out for drinks a few times.”

“Oh?” Something akin to disappointment brews in Noctis’ chest.

“Not like that.” Gladio snorts. “He’s got his eye on someone. Plus he’s not my type.”

“What is your type then?” asks Noctis, breathlessness excused by the minor shake in his arms.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

When Noctis peeks up from under his arm to pout, Gladio laughs and directs them into the next sequence.

The weeks fly by, half spent in anticipation of the next night he can bask in Gladio’s presence, flourish under his attention and smiles and laughter. Ignis teases him mercilessly and Prompto quickly picks up on the situation, but Noctis finds he doesn’t mind their well intended tormenting as much - he feels he can weather anything in the light of all he’s gained, the least of all a few insinuations and amused looks.

And then the morning from hell comes. 

When Noctis wakes up he’s already tenses beyond hell, face scrunching in pain as he slowly eases into sitting up. Sweat sticks uncomfortably to his neck, breathing heavy as he collects his dizzy thoughts. Thankfully, he doesn’t have any classes today, but he does have his class with Gladio in the evening, so he hobbles through his apartment to grab some food and use the restroom before collapsing back in bed until then.

Getting to the studio is a chore on its own and he finds himself on the brink of tears three times before he steps foot inside. He should have canceled - should have stayed home to rest - but how could he when this is one of the few things he has to look forward to? He can’t give it up, so he clenches his jaw and heads into the room. 

Right away Noctis knows that Gladio can tell something is off, but he doesn’t ask, leading him through some warm up stretches. It isn’t until they start the first sequence that he speaks up.

They’re on a pose they’ve done for weeks now and it should be easy to fall into it, but Noctis’ back screams at him. Frustration threatens to choke him, bubbling up in his throat as he pushes further into the stretch until Gladio touches his shoulder, hand still soft despite the firm tone that follows.

“Stop.”

Noctis ignores him. 

“Noctis, stop,” Gladio says again and Noctis allows himself to be maneuvered out of the pose to sit on the floor. “Remember, it’s not supposed to be agony. If it doesn’t feel good, it isn’t. Your body is trying to tell you something.”

Angry pinpricks push at Noctis’ eyes and he swipes at them furiously as he grits his teeth. He tries to keep it inside, keep Gladio away from the darker parts of who he is, but it’s to no use. “I hate this stupid body!” he shouts. “Why won’t it just _work,_ why does it fall apart on me? It’s useless!”

He shudders, voice breaking. “I’m useless.”

Gladio guides him through his breathing, hand an anchor on Noctis’ nape as he heaves, lungs struggling to fill. When he calms, a rush of shame floods his veins and he curls away from Gladio’s knowing gaze.

“Hey,” says Gladio, guiding him back to face him. “Is it alright if I hug you?”

There’s a beat, the tense air between them fraught with indecision before Noctis nods. The embrace is just as gentle as Gladio’s corrective touches, just as steady and encompassing. His shoulder is firm beneath Noctis’ forehead and he melts into the hold and a broken noise escapes his lips when a hand smooths over the ache in his back.

“You’re not useless Noctis,” says Gladio, his voice rumbling beneath Noctis’ ear. “You’re healing and sometimes that means you take a few steps back. It’s a part of the process, which is shitty, but it’s true. You’re doing the best you can. You’re trying and that’s enough.”

Noctis hates that he dampens Gladio’s shirt, but he doesn’t pull away. A hand runs through his hair, tugging at the stands soothingly. Slowly, bit by bit, Noctis melts his full weight against Gladio’s support and only when he’s completely relaxed does he lean back.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping at his burning cheeks and slanting his eyes away from Gladio’s searching gaze.

“It’s okay.” 

They’re quiet, Noctis shifting to a more comfortable position. 

“You know how I got this?” Gladio asks, pointing to the scar running along his face. Hesitantly, Noctis shakes his head. “Souvenir from a car accident. It was pretty bad - concussion, few broken bones. It took months of rest and physical therapy to get me back on my feet and even then it wasn’t the same.”

At this, Noctis finally meets Gladio’s sincere eyes, gaze flickering over to trace the length of the scar. “I thought I’d never get back to where I was before, but I did. It took a hell of a lot of time and patience and dedication.” Gladio gestures around them. “That’s how I ended up here. After all that, after nearly losing everything and building it back up brick by brick, well, I wanted to find a way for me to help others trying to do the same.”

“This place is a safe place for anyone to come and decompress, build their strength both inside and out. I make my classes adaptive, something you can cater to your needs. It’s not supposed to feel bad,” he says and rests a hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “Some days you have to be kind to yourself, Noctis.”

“Right.” Noctis stares at his hands and Gladio squeezes once before letting go.

The words stick like paste on the back of tongue, but he knows he wants to get them out - wants to offer them in exchange for what Gladio gifted him with. “I didn’t… There wasn’t anything that hurt me,” he starts. “One day I just woke up and it was like my leg and back were on fire. All the doctors thought I’d pulled a muscle or torn something. They told me I was overreacting.” Noctis grits his teeth, the flare of pain in his chest having nothing to do with his injury. “It took three months before anyone would look into it long enough to figure out I had a herniated disc.”

It had taken a long time to admit it to himself how much it had hurt having his pain be dismissed so easily like that and even longer to admit it to his therapist. Telling Gladio feels like pulling the plug on all the water stopped up inside him, all of it rushing to get out, to be heard and understood.

“It never even crossed any of their minds as a possibility. I’m too young to be dealing with back problems like that, but here I am.” Noctis bites out a bitter laugh. “It’s better now, but some days it’s like an echo, like it’s reminding me that even though I’m mostly healed I’m still weak - that it could happen again.” He grips his hands together tightly, knuckles blanching white. 

A hand covers his and when he looks up, Gladio smiles something soft and sad. “You’re not weak. You’re strong, and being here proves it. Want to try again?”

It’s not pity, it’s not a dismissal - it’s understanding, and Noctis feels free under its release. 

“Just breathe,” Gladio tells him as he lies down on his mat and sets about readjusting Noctis’ shoulders. 

They work on relaxing, on letting go of every last drop of tension his body holds in memory and anticipation of pain. Gladio talks him through it, drawing focus to different areas of the body until finally Noctis has all but melted against the mat. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, world narrowed to the cycle of his breathing and Gladio’s warmth by his side as he sinks into his bones. In a bout of half-conscious bravery, he reaches out to brush his hand against the one by his side, Gladio’s fingers twitching beneath his touch. Noctis forgets the ache.

A gentle nudge brings him back, Gladio leaning over as he eases him back from the brink. “Sorry, I wanted to let you rest more, but there’s a class in this room soon.”

Drowsy, Noctis sits up and drops Gladio’s hand to rub his eyes. “No worries. Sorry for falling asleep.”

“It’s okay.”

Gladio reaches out, brushing a strand of hair out of Noctis’ eyes before he stands, and Noctis freezes and thaws all at once. They go about gathering their things, rolling up their mats and slipping into their shoes. Embarrassment hovers over Noctis’ shoulders, but the drowsy calm and lack of pain in his spine keeps it at bay. When they reach the doorway, they linger and something glimmers in Gladio’s eyes as he smiles.

“Try not to play too many video games this week,” he jokes and Noctis laughs. “See you next time.”

When he turns to leave Noctis’ hand moves before he can think, snagging the hem of his top to stop him. Gladio’s eyebrows are raised when he turns back around, and Noctis coughs awkwardly. “I uh, wanted to ask if you… maybe wanted to hang out sometime?”

The question lingers, long enough for him to panic, and he quickly backtracks. “I mean, if it’s not too weird. I just thought - but maybe not, I’m sorry.” He drops his hand from Gladio’s shirt. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. Nevermind, just... forget it. I’ll see you next week.”

He makes to dart around to the front door, but Gladio steps in front of him, a hand coming up to set on his shoulder. “Noct,” he says, and it’s so soft Noctis’ breath catches. A hand tilts his head up, their eyes meeting as Gladio leans closer. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, okay?”

It’s slow enough that Noctis could push him away if he wanted, but he doesn’t, bringing his hand up to rest against Gladio’s chest. Their lips brush tentatively, a dry rasp as they disconnect, and their eyes flicker back and forth, cheeks flushed as their breath fills the space between. Gladio’s holding him so tenderly, palm against his jaw and Noctis lets his eyes fall shut as he leans back in. It’s achingly soft and Noctis falls apart and back together in Gladio’s arms. They tilt their heads, lips sliding together again and again. Noctis presses up on his toes, arms reaching up to circle round Gladio’s shoulders as his hand threads through his silk hair and the kiss deepens, slick and heavy.

It draws a small noise from Gladio and they break apart, chests heaving and hearts beating in sync. A swell of anxiety meagerly pushes at a corner of Noctis’ mind, but it fades to dust when Gladio smiles, brilliant as the sun as he ducks to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Let me take you out?” he asks, and Noctis nods hard enough to make him dizzy, falling into the embrace. It’s as if all the happiness bubbles up from his chest like champagne until his heart swells and his cheeks ache. In Gladio’s arms, he feels invincible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it <3 Let me know your thoughts?
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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